


Stripped Down to Our Skeletons

by cylobaby27



Series: Jet Black Crow [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jason is a hooker!AU, Panic Attacks, Sequel, Underage Prostitution, read Jet Black Crow first for context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 16:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16201478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cylobaby27/pseuds/cylobaby27
Summary: Jason tries to settle into his new life at Wayne Manor.





	Stripped Down to Our Skeletons

**Author's Note:**

> This is the highly-requested sequel to [Jet Black Crow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468657)! Read first.

In Jason’s childhood, his mother had never been able to take them on the big vacations some of the other kids from school talked about, or that he saw on television. The furthest he’d ever gone from Crime Alley was the cold, dirty beach just outside of Gotham. The concept of staying in a resort for a week where your food was provided and there was no pressure to find the next hustle had been laughable.

Wayne Manor may have looked more like a museum than a resort, but the effect on Jason was probably the same.

Deep-sea creatures develop to survive multiple tons of crushing weight from the miles of ocean above them. When scientists first attempted to study them, pulling them from the dark depths into the light above, the creatures simply…exploded. Their very cells could not maintain their structure without the constant pressure holding them in place, and they split open from the inside.

Jason could relate. He had _nothing to do_ , and it was so disconcerting that he thought he’d explode out of his own skin within the first two days.

Alfred, the Waynes’ butler and legislator, had given Jason strict instructions to ‘take it easy,’ and had lashed him with a look so disapproving when he’d offered to help in the kitchen that Jason had felt it like a physical blow.

Dick was helpful, luring Jason out of his room to hang out in one of the manor’s several enormous living rooms to watch movies. Tim had even darted in for the last half of Mulan earlier that day, though he had left again before the credits song had ended.

Unfortunately, it seemed like Jason was losing even that.

"What do you mean, you're leaving?"

"I have to go to work," Dick said, shrugging. He had a worn duffle bag over one shoulder. It was Sunday night after dinner, and Dick had stopped by Jason’s room to say goodbye. "You know I work for the BPD. I was just in Gotham for the weekend, but I work regular hours as a detective."

"And you commute back from Bludhaven every night?" Jason asked, slightly desperate.

"No, I have an apartment there," Dick said. "Look, the terms haven't changed. You can stay here as long as you need to heal. You don't need me here for that. I'll be back next weekend, if you want."

"I don't need you," Jason pointed out. He was leaning against his doorframe, hyperaware of the open bedroom behind him in spite of the constant reassurances from Dick of his disinterest. "I never wanted to come here in the first place."

"You're still not a prisoner, Jason.” Though they’d met under Jason’s pseudonym, Jay, Dick had made a point of using his full name since he’d learned it. “Don't throw away a good thing. Bruce wants you to crash here until you're healed, and Alfred will throw a polite British fit if you leave and get yourself killed." Seeing that Jason still wasn't calmed, he added, “Your bruises aren’t even healed yet, and your ribs will take a few more weeks. Give yourself a break. There’s nowhere else you have to be.”

After his awkward first breakfast with the Waynes, Dick and Jason had ended up in one of the living rooms to talk logistics. As much as Dick wanted to wave his hand and say everything was handled, Jason had demanded details. Rent was due this week, and he wasn’t going to lose his apartment while indulging the Waynes’ charitable habits.

Dick had pulled out his phone and sent a number with four digits to Jason’s Venmo just when Jason was starting to get heated. Never let it be said that Dick bluffed. Jason’s apartment was secure for the next month at least, and he wasn’t even draining his usual hundred dollars on groceries during that time.

As much as his lifetime of honed paranoia shouted that he was missing something, Dick was right. There was nowhere else Jason needed to be.

Dick left, and Jason went back into his room for the night. Just as he had the last two nights, he secured the desk’s wooden chair under the door before collapsing onto the soft comforter. His ribs, fractured from the beating he’d suffered through on Friday night, protested even that small movement.

No matter how weird the situation was, the butler hasn’t been wrong in his diagnosis—Jason’s ribs were fucked up, and rest would help them heal.

As long as his mind survived the process.

 

#

 

Jason was torn between two powerful instincts.

The first was to avoid the Waynes as much as possible. He was interloping in their house, and without Dick there to buffer things, his presence would grate against both Bruce Wayne and the kid, Tim. Though he normally didn’t worry about the comfort of rich assholes, these were rich assholes whose house he was sleeping in. He was vulnerable, and it was their grace that was giving him this time to heal before he was back in Gotham. It was better to steer clear.

But the second instinct was to make life as easy as possible for Alfred. Alfred had patched him up the first night, and Jason couldn’t help respecting him. He had kind eyes but a no-nonsense attitude, and he’d fought for Jason to be able to stay.

If he wanted to avoid the Waynes, he would eat by himself. But that would cause extra work for Alfred, and when it came down to it, that was the more unacceptable option.

He skated by during breakfast the morning after Dick left because Tim was at school and Wayne was…somewhere else. Alfred shrugged and said that as long as the man of the house showed up at some point to chug one of the protein shakes in the fridge, Alfred had learned not to argue.

Lunch was the same, and Jason lingered in the kitchen with Alfred as long as he could before the butler sent him back to his room to rest. Jason opened his mouth to argue that being alone was starting to drive him insane, but Alfred was probably looking for a polite way to be rid of him, so he left.

Dinner with the Waynes, though, was unavoidable.

Jason slunk into the dining room right at seven, wearing clothes he’d borrowed from Dick’s closet. Dick had offered to go by his apartment to grab him more supplies, but there was nothing there the Waynes didn’t already have in superior quantity and quality. The Waynes even had some high-tech universal charger he could use for his shitty flip phone.

He missed his favorite hoodie, but he hadn’t been about to send Dick into Crime Alley to retrieve what was essentially a safety blanket.

“Hello, Jason,” Wayne said as soon as he sat down, foiling his plan to disappear.

Tim was surreptitiously scrolling through a phone he had tucked half-under his plate, but he looked up and nodded to Jason. It was weird how unfazed the kid was by Jason’s presence. If some stranger—some beat-up prostitute, no less—had tried to infiltrate his apartment, he would have driven him out with the first day. He’d been fiercely protective of his small space and of his mother, even when she had stopped noticing his presence.

Tim, though he had been forced to deal with the same foster system as Jason, seemed confident of his place in the manor.

Then again, Jason’s foster experience and Tim’s simple funnel from one mansion to another probably wasn’t really comparable.

“Hey,” Jason said when he decided not answering was impolite.

Alfred came in then to bring in the salad course—dinner was served in _courses_ here—which thankfully stopped a conversation from building. Alfred set a bowl with extra tomatoes and no cucumbers in front of Jason, and Jason had to swallow so his breathing didn’t turn ragged.

It wasn’t that big of a deal that Alfred had noticed which parts of his meals over the last three days Jason had skipped over, but it was more than any of the other few people who had cooked for him had done.

“Thanks,” he said, and Alfred just gave him a solemn nod.

“How was school?” Wayne asked.

Tim finally looked away from his phone to start on his own salad, which was sprinkled with black olives. “It was good,” Tim said. “Though, are you sure I can’t hack the systems to get myself out of computer class? It’s a joke. They’re trying to teach us Excel, and the teacher had to Google how to filter. To _filter_. That one has a giant button on the toolbar.”

“No hacking the school servers,” Wayne said, and Jason looked between them, trying to figure out if they were kidding.

“It’s a private school. It wouldn’t even be interfering with a government program,” Tim pointed out half-heartedly. “I might need to hack it when that lit test grade comes through.” He rolled his eyes. “I still have no clue what’s happening in the book. There are two cities, there’s a tale. That’s all I’ve got so far. The essay is going to be brutal.”

Jason had read Dickens’ collected works last year, as soon as he’d signed his apartment and was able to start checking books out from the local library. He’d skipped over most of _Oliver Twist_ , for obvious reasons, but he’d liked _The Tale of Two Cities_. Would Tim be completely freaked out if Jason offered to help him with the essay? Alfred was still refusing to consider letting Jason work around the manor to help pay for his temporary stay, and reading was something Jason could actually do.

He started talking at the same moment as Wayne, and immediately shut up. Wayne waved a hand. “No, go ahead, Jason,” he offered.

Jason shook his head. “Never mind. Sorry.”

Wayne just gave him a surprisingly patient look. From the bits Jason had seen in the tabloids and YouTube, he’d expected Wayne to be a conversational bulldozer. He tended to lead reporters in circles. Even just the last few days, though, Jason had noticed that Wayne’s default was silence, and the boys in his house were the ones who rushed to fill them in.

Jason tried to wait him out, but caved quickly. “Just, if you need help with your essay, I’ve read _Two Cities_.”

“You have?” Tim sounded surprised.

Jason swallowed an angry retort like it was glass shards tearing down his throat. Of course they assumed he was functionally illiterate. No one ever expected Jason to pick up a book for fun. Why would the Waynes be any different? “Yes,” he said finally.

“Wow,” Time said.

“It’s one of Dickens’ better books,” he added, unable to keep a touch of defensiveness out of his voice. He didn’t need these two rich jerks to respect him, but he’d never been able to just roll over when someone challenged him.

“I just didn’t think anyone actually read that stuff for fun,” Tim said.

“Have you been in our library yet?” Wayne asked.

Jason turned back to face him so quickly that his bruised torso throbbed. “You have a library?” he asked.

“I’m not surprised Dick’s grand tour skipped it. It’s not appreciated nearly enough,” Wayne said, with a look at Tim. Tim just shrugged and waved his phone, as though that was a reasonable substitute. “You’re free to use it. It’s on the ground floor near the rear.”

“Really, Mr. Wayne?” Jason said. Maybe he wouldn’t go crazy on bedrest after all.

“You can call me Bruce,” Wayne said, amusement in his voice. “I only make my board members call me Mr. Wayne.”

“Okay,” Jason agreed, making a mental note to avoid addressing him by name at all.

“Someone should take advantage of my parents’ collection,” Bruce added. Even now, decades after their famous murders, there was still a tenderness in Bruce’s eyes when he mentioned his parents. Would Jason take so long to get over his mother? Or was Bruce’s long mourning a sign of the strength of his parents’ affection? “There are mostly the classics, but my father took one shelf for his favorite pulp crime novels.”

“Thanks,” Jason said.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce prompted. His gaze snagged on Jason’s brow, where a deep cut was still healing. It had scabbed over, closed together with the help of butterfly bandages from Alfred, but it would be a while until his face was unmarred.

“Fine,” Jason said.

Bruce hummed skeptically before going back to his salad. Thank God for natural reticence.

 

#

 

Tim and Bruce disappeared after dinner, and Jason retreated to the library. It was a cavernous space, carved out to take up two stories, connected by a spiraling staircase. Ladders scattered the edges of the room so that any book could be accessed easily—though how anyone figured out where anything was was beyond Jason. It was at least twice as large as the library in the public high school he’d gone to for two years. The books Jason was used to were laminated and smudged by a million hands, but these were all leather-bound and undamaged.

Jason knew, suddenly, why Belle had chosen to live happily in her captor’s castle when she’d been gifted use of a room like this.

(Jason remembered watching the cartoon on a Blockbuster VHS in his living room while his parents had argued nearby, voices barely dampened by the thin apartment walls. Then, he had hated the idea of anyone being trapped anywhere, especially for their father’s sake.)

He browsed until his ribs forced him to sit down, so he pulled a copy of _Fahrenheit 451_ from a shelf and settled into a plush armchair. Like everything in Wayne Manor, it threatened to swallow him, drown him in wealth and softness until he could no longer stand on his own. The book was small enough that he could finish it within the next day.

No matter the assurances he’d been given, Jason could not trust that he had a place here for longer than that. Starting a longer novel would be asking for disappointment.

 

#

 

A heavy hand was hot on Jason’s mouth, trapping his breath in his lungs. He fought for a breath, but his nose was still clogged with blood, and he couldn’t find air.

Another hand was lower, as callous as a butcher handling a dead beast.

Jason tried to lurch free, but to no avail. He was wiry from years on the streets, but he was still so damn small.

“Jason.”

There was a rattle and then a crack as something broke, echoing through the quiet space.

Jason bolted upright, eyes wild. It was dark, too dark. He could barely make out the shadows around him. Someone broad moved in front of him, and he lurched backward. When he collided with the heavy wooden headboard, he grunted in pain. His ribs screamed at the abuse, and his throat felt raw from the asphyxiation.

No. No, that had felt different. Tonight it was raw from screaming.

“Fuck,” he said hoarsely as reality crashed into place around him. Instead of calming his racing heart, it made it worse.

“Jason?” It was Bruce’s voice, low and serious. And in his room.

“Did you break down the door?” Jason asked incredulously. The second word broke, so he turned the rest of the question into as close to a growl as he could muster.

“You sounded like you were being attacked,” Bruce said. He didn’t move further into the room. Jason blinked, and he could make out the man’s form better. During the daylight, he hadn’t realized how massive Bruce Wayne was. For someone who had breakfast at noon, he was built bigger than some of the brawlers Jason had known in Crime Alley.

“I wasn’t,” Jason snarled. “You didn’t need to come in.”

There was a long beat of silence, which made it very obvious how loud Jason’s ragged breathing was. Finally, Bruce said, “I know about nightmares.”

“Good for you,” Jason snapped. “Get out. If you wanted to be invited into my bedroom, you should have negotiated that earlier.”

“That’s not why I came,” Bruce said. His voice wasn’t angry, like his plans were being denied, or horrified, like he was shocked by the suggestion. Bruce had known what Jason might assume, and had broken inside his room anyway to help him.

Had he really thought Jason was being attacked, or had he known coming in that the only attacker he was saving Jason from was one in his mind? Did it matter, when the effect was the same?

“If you need me, the intercom system by the door connects to my room—and to Alfred’s. Just press 001 or 007 to get to one of us. If anyone in this house makes you uncomfortable, they’ll answer to me,” Bruce said. And though he was a billionaire floozy, Jason believed the threat was genuine. There was an edge to Bruce Wayne, and it had somehow ended up on Jason’s side.

“007 for Alfred?” Jason repeated, a laugh ripping out of his mouth before he noticed it happening. “What does he think of that?”

“That his suits are better tailored than Bond’s,” Bruce dead-panned. “Are you all right?”

Jason wrapped his hands around his knees and regarded the looming shadow. The oil-slick of the nightmare was still clinging to his thoughts, threatening to drag him back down, but the laughter had helped loosen its grip. “I’m always all right.”

Bruce hummed, and his bulky figure finally stepped back toward the door. “If you need anyone, reach out. As long as you’re in the manor, you’re under my protection.” His voice was solemn, like he was making some sort of vow, but Jason was just grateful he was leaving.

“Sure,” he agreed.

Bruce paused as though hearing the false lightness in Jason’s voice, but he didn’t call him out. Instead, he just carefully closed the door. It creaked on its broken hinges, and hung awkwardly in the frame.

Jason leaned back on his pillow, blinking up at the dark ceiling. That had been surreal. He’d never had anyone notice his nightmares before. If he screamed, his neighbors must have heard him, but no one had ever bothered making sure there was no real attacker in his apartment. His nightmares had been less vivid when he’d lived with his mother. Maybe there he had never screamed at all.

Biting his tongue once sharply in a quick punishment for his own traitorous mouth, Jason closed his eyes. He didn’t like the idea of sleeping in a room with an unlocked door, but at least any intruder would trip over the debris of the broken chair if they tried to get inside.

And if Bruce had heard Jason’s screams and come for him, he would hear a real shout for help.

To Jason’s surprise, he fell asleep again quickly.  

Jason came back to his room the next night and found that his door had already been repaired, a shining new lock gleaming.

 

#

 

On Wednesday afternoon, Tim came into the living room Jason was hiding in. They both stilled when they noticed each other. Tim frowned and approached the couch, dropping his backpack on the floor. He nodded to the book Jason was reading. “Doesn’t the library have better lighting?”

“Alfred caught me in there climbing a ladder and tried to put me on bedrest,” Jason admitted, using a leather bookmark he’d found in the library to mark his place and setting the book down. “I’m hiding from him.”

Tim laughed and joined Jason on the couch. “Good luck with that. I swear he can smell when people are disobeying him. You’re reading _Paradise Lost_ for fun?” he added, noticing the book.

“Milton is funnier than you’d think.”

“You really weren’t kidding about Dickens, were you?”

“I like to read,” Jason said with a shrug. “They teach it in public schools too, you know.”

“Not my thing,” Tim said, ignoring Jason’s jab. “Especially fiction. I don’t get the point.”

“That’s tragic, little man,” Jason said.

Tim huffed. “I’m not that much younger than you are.”

“You’re, what, twelve?”

“Thirteen,” Tim said, like that was a big difference. “Dick said you’re seventeen. You’re not even an adult yet.”

“Legally,” Jason grumbled. “At least I’m not still in school, twerp.”

“You should be. It’s difficult to get a job without a high school diploma,” Tim snarked back, and then froze. He looked uncomfortably over at Jason, which answered the question of whether Dick had told the kid about Jason’s ‘job.’

“Ha,” Jason said, disliking the look in the kid’s eyes. Was that embarrassment? Pity? “It’s hard to go to school when you’re fucking homeless. I’d rather make money. I’m smarter than ninety percent of the teachers in the public school system, anyway. Once I save up some cash, I’ll get my GED.”

“Teachers are stupid,” Tim agreed. “I’d get my GED too if Bruce would let me.”

“Why won’t he let you?”

“Appearances. He wants his kids to seem as normal as possible, and dropping out of school isn’t normal.”

“Normal?” Jason repeated. “You got adopted by a billionaire. What’s normal about that?”

“That’s what I argued. I don’t really mind, though.” Tim shrugged. “I like being a Wayne. I can follow his rules, if it’s that important to him. He wants me to take over Wayne Enterprises when I’m old enough. A little school is worth that.”

What had life been like for Tim? How had he ended up in Bruce Wayne’s household? Tim and Dick both were living out the plot of Annie while Jason had been standing on a street corner, freezing in mesh shirts and hoping his dollar-store concealer hid his bruises. What was it like to be chosen for salvation?

“Whatever,” Tim continued, “Want to play video games?”

Jason frowned at the pile of machines and cables sitting in front of the room’s widescreen TV. “I haven’t touched a controller since Nintendo 64,” he said.

Tim shrugged. “We have one of those. Mario Kart?”

Jason grinned. “You’re on.”

#

 

The next night, there was a new face at the dinner table. She looked close to Tim’s age, with long blonde hair loose around her shoulders.

“Hi,” she chirped when Jason entered the dining room. “You must be Jason. I’m Stephanie!”

“Hey,” Jason said. With Stephanie in his usual seat beside Tim, Jason ended up beside Bruce. Over the weekend, that arrangement would have left him too tense to eat, but after Bruce had busted through his door to help him—and then repaired the door so Jason could lock it once again—Jason was less antsy around the large man.

Without Dick, dinners with the Waynes that week had been mostly quiet affairs. Stephanie changed that. She talked so quickly that her words sometimes ran together. Tim grinned and snarked back, but let Stephanie take the conversational runway.

Despite himself, Jason found himself drawn into a rapid-fire conversation with her about life in inner-city Gotham, where she lived too. They hadn’t gone to the same schools, since she was in the area of town the single step above where Jason had grown up, but the experiences were essentially the same.

“Have you been to the Denny’s?” Stephanie asked him. “I swear it’s haunted.”

“Which one?” Jason asked. “There are like seven.”

“They’re _all_ haunted,” Stephanie decided. “I bet if you walk through the staff door in one, you can just walk right out into one of the others. They’re _surreal_.”

“That honestly wouldn’t surprise me,” Jason said.

“Could you take one of the doors to a Denny’s outside of Gotham?”

He laughed. “If only.”

“What _is_ Denny’s?” Bruce asked Tim. He seemed torn between indulging Stephanie and getting a headache from her chatter. Stephanie was unfazed by it, either way.  

The boy shrugged. “I only know it from memes.”

“That’s a sin, Timothy,” Stephanie said. “We’ll go next time we’re near one. They’re open 24/7.”

“Don’t bother,” Jason scoffed. “If you want shitty breakfast food, at least go to Empire Diner. That’s _local_ shitty diner food.”

“Language,” Bruce chided, but casually, like Jason was actually meant to be at the table, actually part of their small group.

“But Denny’s is a national _icon_ ,” Stephanie argued, ignoring Bruce’s interjection.

“That term applies to a lot of things that are better forgotten,” Tim pointed out. “Like Mount Rushmore.”

“And the president,” Jason said.

“Fine, I’ll just eat my mediocre waffles by myself,” Stephanie snipped.

 

#

 

As promised, Dick came back to the manor on Friday night. He found Jason in the library, hands in the pockets of his jeans. Even in a casual slouch, the man looked like a model. Meanwhile, Jason was still wearing his borrowed clothes and the swelling of his black eye was only just beginning to go down.

“Alfred said I’d probably find you in here,” Dick said, approaching Jason’s armchair. “Apparently he’s having trouble keeping you out.”

“I think he’s decided just to be grateful the worst break of bedrest I’m doing is reading in here,” Jason said. “It’s a sin that your family doesn’t read these books more. Did you know you have a first edition copy of _The Return of the King_?”

“That’s…good?” Dick cautioned.

“That’s amazing,” Jason said. “It’s even the English edition!” He shook his head. “Casting pearls before swine, here.”

“I was a little surprised when Tim told me you hadn’t run back to Gotham yet, but I guess this explains it,” Dick said.

“I’m not stupid,” Jason sniffed. “A free room in a fancy mansion? All the books and ice packs a guy could ask for? You’ll have to drag me out.”

Dick just smiled. “I’m glad my family proved themselves worth trusting. I knew you’d like them. How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” Jason said, poking at his torso gingerly. “I have a follow-up appointment with Doctor Alfred tomorrow to make sure things haven’t gotten worse. He tried to talk me into going to get an x-ray again.” He rolled his eyes.

“It’s not a bad idea—”

“Not a chance,” Jason cut in.

Dick shrugged. “Sure, sure,” he conceded. “Still, I’m glad you’re on the mend. You look better than you did when I found you.” He held up a hand. “Don’t read anything into that.”

“Bruce would kick your ass anyway,” Jason said.

Raising his eyebrows, Dick said, “Damn, the family really did impress you. I mean, I knew that about Bruce, but I didn’t think you would. He’s as good as his word, too—I’d be out on my ass if I lifted a finger against you. That’s just who Bruce is.”

“You got lucky with him,” Jason agreed. The pang of jealousy was small, just a twinge of a glimpse of a path Jason would never take. Dick had plucked Jason off a street corner, even when Jason had fought him like a cat being thrown into a bath, and had set him up with somewhere to heal. Dick deserved all the good breaks life could give him.

“You’re here too now,” Dick pointed out.

Jason just shrugged. This wasn’t permanent, and he wouldn’t let himself forget that.

“I missed dinner, but Alfred said there was some leftover dessert. Come break into it with me,” Dick suggested.

Jason’s ribs were aching after so long in even the extremely comfortable armchair in the library, but he nodded and stood up. “I’ll never say no to that.”

 

#

 

Later the next week, Alfred brought Jason back to the kitchen for another medical check-up. Like the last three times, Alfred was brisk and efficient. Jason didn’t think that he would ever feel _comfortable_ sitting in the large kitchen with his shirt off, examined by the stoic butler, but it no longer made him anxious enough to consider hitchhiking back to Gotham.

“You’re healing on schedule,” Alfred said finally, leaning back and taking the stethoscope from his ears. “It doesn’t seem as though any of your actions in the past ten days have jarred the fractures any further.”

Jason grinned at him. “So what I’m hearing is that you’ll stop telling me not to use the ladders in the library?”

“Not at all,” Alfred said. “If anything, you should hear that my recommendation of bedrest was, in fact, the best course of action, and that you simply were lucky your other stunts did not lead to further injury.”

“Alfred,” Jason whined.

“How are you enjoying _Jane Eyre_?” Alfred asked.

Jason narrowed his eyes at him. “You know damn well it’s excellent,” he said. “Just because I’m enjoying the library doesn’t mean I don’t miss the little things. Like…going for a jog. Or staying up past midnight.”

“Such hardships you must endure here,” Alfred said, shaking his head mournfully. “To not be able to jog or burn the midnight oil? You must be suffering.”

“You’re kind of a jerk,” Jason said, pleased. “How long until I’m going to get the clean bill of health?”

Alfred hummed. “Two weeks? Three? We shall have to wait and see. Be patient, Master Jason. There is no rush.”

 

#

 

Jason immediately went to find Bruce. The man seemed to spend most of his days in the manor, though Jason knew that he was the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. He slept in as late as Jason did when he was working the streets. Jason wondered what it was like to do that for fun, rather than from exhaustion.

Jason checked his office first, where he had found him before, but it was empty. Instead, he follows the sound of clanging metal to the gym. Though Dick skipped the room during his grand tour, correctly guessing the Alfred would try to keep Jason away from the temptation, Jason had stumbled onto it last week.

Instead of the high-tech workout clothes Jason expected, Bruce is wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a simple black tank. His normal clothes usually masked just how bulky the man was, but there was nothing to hide it here. He was soaked in sweat, doing pullups on a tall beam. From the way he was churning them out, it seemed as though he’d been going for a while.

Jason jerked to a halt at the door, uncomfortable with the man for the first time all week. Somehow, ever since the night Bruce had broken into his room to check on him, Jason had managed to move Bruce into a nonthreatening category in his mind, the category that little old grandmas held. Bruce had proven that he was on Jason’s side, ready to throw down to protect him, and Jason did not need to think twice about him. But the smell of sweat was heavy in the room, and the reminder of Bruce’s physical _presence_ made Jason’s stomach churn uncomfortably.

He finally recovered his wits and turned to go, but Bruce dropped to the floor and turned to him. “Hello, Jason,” he greeted, wiping his brow with the towel around his neck. “Is everything all right?”

Jason swallowed. He could feel the open air of the hallway behind him, and he was tempted to leave without saying anything. “Yeah,” he croaked. “I was just talking to Alfred. I’ll come back later.”

“No, it’s no problem,” Bruce said, taking a step forward.

Jason stepped back in tandem, smacking his shoulder against the doorframe. “Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his arm.

Bruce had stilled in the middle of the room, one hand still in the towel around his neck. “What did Alfred say?” he asked, as though nothing strange was going on. He didn’t move again, though, as still as someone spotting a stray deer in their yard. Jason hated— _hated_ —the feeling that he needed to be managed, but he couldn’t deny that Bruce was making the right choice if he didn’t want Jason bolting.

He wished Bruce didn’t need to treat him with kid gloves, but damn if he wasn’t reassured by the effort.

“I’m mending on schedule,” Jason told him. “I just… I wanted to say that I can leave whenever you want me to. I know I’ve been in your hair for almost two weeks now.” He tilted up his chin, clenching his teeth with the effort it took. “

“Is that what Alfred said?” Bruce asked mildly. “That you’re ready to leave?”

Jason hesitated. “Basically,” he cautioned.

Bruce hummed. “That doesn’t sound like the prognosis he gave before.”

“Fine, he said I have another few weeks until I’m free from his rules, but he’s probably exaggerating,” Jason snapped. “It’s _your_ house. Alfred and Dick can’t bully you when it’s your house I’m crashing in.”

“Are you asking whether I want you to leave, or asking for my permission to ignore Alfred’s instructions? Either way, the answer is no.”

“But—”

Bruce held up a hand, and Jason nearly bit off his tongue. “I can’t stop you from leaving, Jason,” he said. “I would offer to drive you back into Gotham myself if that’s what you wanted. But I don’t think it’s a good idea while you’re still healing, and I certainly am not anxious for you to leave. Do I seem shy to you?”

“No,” Jason reluctantly admitted.

“If I want you to leave, I will tell you. But I don’t. Tim likes having someone else in the manor. He didn’t overlap with Dick, and he grew up as an only child. Alfred keeps talking about how intelligent you are. I’ve had more dry comments about someone finally using the library in the past two weeks than I’ve gotten in years. He appreciates the company.”

“They must both be really lonely,” Jason said wryly.

“They are,” Bruce said simply. “I try, but… I’m not good company.” He rubbed a hand through his hair, sighing. “I’ve never been good with people.” He nodded to the space between them meaningfully.

Jason shook his head. “No, no. God, don’t take this personally.” He laughed hollowly. “I’m just kind of fucked up, Bruce.”

Bruce just nodded. “I’m not kicking you out, Jason.” He gave him a wry smile. “We’re all a bit messed up here. You fit in. And everyone deserves the space to heal.”

 

#

 

Stephanie had dinner with them again that Sunday night, brightening the manor with her vibrant energy. Apparently considering her single previous other meeting with Jason as proof that they were best friends, she looped him into her ramblings with a casualness that surprised him.

Everyone here seemed to ready to let him join them, even though Dick had forced them to let him stay, even though he was just a street kid from the inner city.

Stephanie also spent dinner flirting outrageously with Tim.

Sitting beside him, she took any excuse to touch him, whether it was to brush their arms or to drape herself against his shoulder while looking at something on his phone. Jason shot Bruce an amused glance the fifth time it happened, and Bruce just sighed.

Jason mouthed, “Normal?” at him, and Bruce nodded.

Tim didn’t seem to know how to handle it, alternating between deliberate distance and red-faced stuttering. The fact that Jason and Bruce were sitting across the table watching and holding back laughter seemed to only make it worse.

After dinner, Stephanie dragged Bruce somewhere else in the manor with a flimsy excuse. Jason glanced after them, but was glad for the chance to corner Tim on his own. He trailed Tim up to his room, using his own flimsy excuse. Once they were in Tim’s room, Jason leaned against the doorframe and said, “Spill, shortstack. What’s going on with you and Stephanie?”

Tim flushed. “At least close the door. Jesus,” he said.

Jason hesitated. For once, it wasn’t his own safety he was worried about. Did Tim really want to be trapped in his bedroom with Jason? But Tim just nodded toward the door again, and Jason complied. He stayed by the threshold, giving Tim all the space he could, but the boy didn’t even seem to notice.

What was it like to operate in the world without a constant thrum of fear?

“And there’s nothing happening with me and Stephanie,” Tim continued. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Jason smirked. “Kid, she was all over you during dinner,” he said. “Please tell me Dick taught you how to flirt.”

“What? No. Dick had already moved out before I moved in,” Tim said. “We hang out when he’s in town, but we don’t talk about…”

“Girls?” Jason prompted, feeling his smirk grow even bigger.

“Stephanie is just a friend,” Tim said. “She’s fun. I’m not going to flirt with her.”

“From what I saw at dinner, you don’t have to. She’s doing all the work,” Jason said. “I don’t think she’s the kind to wait around for you. If you give her a sign, she’ll be asking _you_ out.”

Tim hesitated. “You think so? Have you ever…”

Jason shrugged. “That’s a cute assumption, but I’m not exactly boyfriend material. No one was ever interested in taking me home to meet their parents, you know? Not that I ever really liked anyone enough to ask them to try. But I know how to read people, Timbo. She’s into you.”

“I just thought she thought I was kind of boring,” Tim admitted. “Maybe I should…” He huffed a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to mess things up.”

Jason was across the room in a breath, holding Tim’s wrist gently and tugging back the fabric again that had slipped during the motion.

“Hey!” Tim protested, pulling his arm away and tugging down his sleeve again.

It was too late, of course. Jason had already seen.

The bruise was livid. Fresh. No more than two days old. Even if Tim hadn’t been home the whole weekend, Jason would never have thought another thirteen-year-old could have made the mark. It was too large for that.

“Okay,” Jason said quietly, firmly. “Okay. We’re leaving.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Tim said, still smoothing down the fabric of his sleeve.

“I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner,” Jason said. Fuck—when had he let his guard down this much? After everything he’d seen, how had he missed the signs? He had been convinced that Bruce was a good man. God, it just showed Jason’s naivety. “Of anyone, you’d think I would have been able to tell.”

“Tell what?” Tim demanded. “It’s nothing, Jason.”

Jason sighed. “Come on, Tim. You think I don’t know what the handprint of a grown-ass man looks like? You know enough about what I’ve done.” He shook his head. “You don’t have to stay. I know this is the only kind of life you’ve known, but you can find another way. I can help you.” He would. Jason could barely provide for himself, but he’d go without food if it meant dragging Tim out of here.

“You’ve got this all wrong,” Tim said.

“I know that Bruce adopted you, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other options,” Jason told him. “Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Tim repeated skeptically.

Jason nearly growled. “I won’t let you end up like me. I’m not telling you to hit the streets, kid. We’ll find something else. But we have to leave. You can’t stay here, not like this.”

The door opened, and Jason stepped forward so that he was between Tim and whoever had just shown up.

“Come on, Tim! What’s taking—”

Stephanie stopped mid-step, taking in the scene. Jason saw her note their closeness, and whatever expressions they were wearing were enough for her to adjust her stance into something more stable. She looked like she was about to attack him.

“Jason thinks I’m being abused,” Tim said.

Stephanie barked out half a laugh before catching herself. “Seriously? Come on, Jason, you’ve met B. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Tim.”

Jason didn’t move. “You don’t know everything that happens behind closed doors, Stephanie.”

Tim slipped around Jason with more dexterity than Jason had expected, escaping to Stephanie’s side. He looked shaken. “Jason, it’s not what you think, okay?”

Stephanie touched his shoulder. “Tim, we have to—”

“I know, I know,” Tim said. “Jason, we have to go. Don’t freak out, okay? It’s really nothing. Just wait until we get back and I’ll…explain it.”

“Tim, please,” Jason said, but Stephanie grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room. The door slammed closed behind them, leaving Jason alone.

Jason took a step forward to follow them, but what could he do? Tackle Tim and carry him out of the manor? Tempting, but if he forced Tim’s hand, he might find a way back into Bruce Wayne’s care.

In a sudden burst of violence, Jason punched the wall. The drywall cracked, and so did something in Jason’s hand.

“Fuck,” he growled. How did he miss this? He’d thought he was the most paranoid motherfucker in Gotham—how could he have been tricked into trusting Bruce Wayne? How could he have sat there reading under the same roof where Tim Drake-Wayne was being abused?

Jason’s first instincts had been right. He should never have trusted anyone, no matter how rich, no matter how friendly. His time here was a fairy tale, and now he was getting a Brothers Grimm ending.

He would have time to beat himself up later. He left Tim’s room at the closest thing to a jog he could muster with his aching ribs and went downstairs to his room on the second floor. It was easy to pack. He had borrowed all of his clothes, but he wasn’t stupid enough to leave them behind if he was making a quick exit. He took an old backpack from his closet and stuffed everything they’d let him use inside, including the high-tech charger. He had his own back home, but this one would sell for a good amount of money.

Should he wait for Tim, or leave now and save himself? Where had Tim gone with Stephanie that was so urgent? If he was still in the house, Jason might still be able to convince him to run with him. Maybe Stephanie would help, if he could make her see the bruises. But if they’d gone, Jason didn’t know how long he could stay under this roof before he crawled out of his own skin.

His broken door had been fixed, but Bruce undoubtedly had the key to his shiny new lock. It wasn’t safe to stay.

Jason flung open his door, backpack on one shoulder, and nearly barreled over Alfred.

“Master Jason,” he said sadly.

Holding himself so still that he was quivering, like an arrow pulled tight in a bowstring, Jason asked, “Did you know? Alfred, did you?”

Alfred sighed. “Master Tim asked me to come check on you. He said you were in a state.”

Jason pulled the door shut behind him, and the noise cracked in the quiet house. “Did you _know_?”

“Master Jason, you’re operating under a misunderstanding.”

“Tim is a child under _your_ care,” Jason snarled. “Anything that happens to him is your responsibility.”

“Believe me—I am well aware of that fact,” Alfred said. “Come to the kitchen, Jason. You can bring your pack, if that makes you more comfortable.”

“Alfred, how _could_ you?” Jason asked instead. “He’s just a kid. Someone should protect him, someone should look out for him. I thought that maybe here— Well, I guess nowhere is safe. But if you won’t help him, I will.”

“You don’t have all of the facts. I would not allow Master Bruce to abuse any child—any person—under his care. You must trust me.”

“Trust you? Is this why you have a fancy first-aid kit? Have you been covering for him?”

“I would never,” Alfred said, pleading tone cracking into something furious. “I would never. If you cannot trust me, and you cannot trust Master Bruce, you trusted Master Dick enough to let him bring you here. Do you believe he would allow Master Tim to be harmed?”

“I only even trusted Dick because I knew he was—”

Nightwing.

Bruce seemed like a layabout billionaire, but he was built like a tank. He slept in until noon, even though he never seemed to go out to all the parties Jason expected him to.

Tim was a slight dark-haired kid who had come under Bruce’s care right when Dick had moved to Bludhaven, right when Robin had transformed into Nightwing.

There was a cheerful blonde girl with a fondness for purple who popped up in the manor at all hours. 

“Alfred, is Bruce—” The word ‘Batman’ couldn’t come to his lips. In Gotham, Batman was the bogeyman. Saying his name too loudly would call him down on you. If Bruce _was_ Batman, which was the only thing that made sense, did Alfred know? He must. He would have been sworn to secrecy.

Would he tell Jason even if he asked? It would be a conflict of interests, and betraying the trust the vigilantes had placed in him.

“Master Bruce has tried his best for his children. For everyone in this city,” Alfred said. “You must trust me, Master Jason. I have spent far too long ensuring your healing to let anyone hurt you now—even yourself. You must calm down.” He waited. Jason took a slow breath, still reeling from his realization. Carefully, Alfred continued, “I would _never_ let Master Bruce hurt an innocent child. I’m loyal to him because he has earned that faith. If he betrayed that trust, I would pack up his wards and take them away myself. But he is a good man, Master Jason. You must believe me.”

Jason swallowed with difficulty. “Alfred,” he said, voice more plaintive than he wanted. “I just don’t want to see anyone getting hurt.” He was so damn tired of seeing people get hurt.

“I promise I’m keeping everyone as safe as I can,” Alfred assured him solemnly. “Come drink some tea with me. Please.”

Finally, Jason nodded. He left his backpack by the door to his room, and followed Alfred downstairs.

 

#

 

Jason didn’t ask Alfred to confirm anyone’s secret identities.

He waited until midway through breakfast. Tim had been watching him carefully through the entire meal, while Bruce remained impassive and quiet. They clearly both expected something to happen, but Jason wanted the extra few minutes to confirm his theory.

He had been right—Tim didn’t move around Bruce like a kid who was being hurt. He trusted Bruce implicitly, and circled him like moon in orbit. Bruce, despite his enormous frame, was delicate in return, gentle with Tim _and_ Jason, even through his current tension.

Finally, just after Tim had taken a bite of his omelet, Jason said, “So, was this whole thing just a long, complicated recruitment process? You know, for the next Robin?”

Tim choked on his eggs. Jason leaned over and patted him on the back twice, making sure he was not actually dying, before he looked over at Bruce.

Bruce had maintained his stoic expression. “I thought you might figure it out,” he said.

Jason shrugged. “It took me longer than it should have. I’ve known about Dick since the night he picked me up.”

Bruce nodded. “Yes, he told me about your suspicions.”

“He’s not the best liar, but he managed to get the suspicion off of you guys pretty well,” Jason said. “Besides, who would expect the entire billionaire Wayne family to fight crime in their free time? I think the only reason more people haven’t figured it out is because it’s so unbelievable.”

Bruce put down his fork, apparently committing to the conversation at last. “Tim told me what you thought last night,” he said. “I was going to tell you myself once I was sure you were ready. This simply escalated things.”

Tim spoke up. “I’m sorry I ran out on you last night. I panicked. I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

Bruce nodded to him. “You did fine, Tim,” he said.

Tim just looked at Jason. “I, uh, appreciate you trying to save me.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t what I thought. Though I’m not sure you’re old enough to be out fighting crime in tights, kid.” He looked across the table at Bruce, not smiling. “So, you’re not an abusive asshole,” he said. “You just adopt orphans and convince them to put their lives at risk for you.”

Bruce stilled, eyes sharp. “I never force the Robins to do anything.”

Jason raised his eyebrows. “You have a nice place here, Bruce. You really think any kid would turn down the chance to live here, even if the price was putting on a mask?” He folded his arms. “I assume I was next. You said you were planning on telling. What would my _nom de plume_ be? Robin’s already taken right now, and I don’t think I’d look good in the tights.”

Bruce just shook his head, not rising to the fight in Jason’s tone. “Dick needed an outlet. Tim came to me and asked to be Robin. He already knew what Dick and I did. They’re like me. They need to fight, to change the world. It’s an outlet that all of us here share. You have the fight in you too, Jason, but it was never a condition of you staying here.”

Jason laughed. “Sure it wasn’t,” he said skeptically. He laughed and shook his head. “It’s actually a good thing you didn’t pick me up when I was Tim’s age. I would have been in those tights and on the streets so fast your head would have spun. And I would probably be dead by now.” He sighed. “I’ve had to fight a lot of people. You’re right. But I’m sick of violence, I’m sick of hurting, and I’m sick of seeing other people get hurt. I’m not one for your team, Bruce. This might be my last meal here, but I didn’t want to leave with things the way they were last night.”

Bruce sighed. “You don’t need to leave, Jason. You don’t need to be Robin to stay here.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason said, “I had been trying to figure out from the beginning why you were being so generous. Not many billionaries open their doors to random hookers. It makes sense, actually, and I’m annoyed I didn’t guess it before. You were looking for more partners, and you thought it might be me. But I’m telling you now, you won’t be able to convince me. I’m not interested. If I never punch another person again, I’ll be happy.” Jason flexed his fingers. Alfred had wrapped his bloody knuckles last night, the ones he had split against the wall and immediately regretted.

Bruce finally seemed angry. “Jason,” he repeated. “I don’t want you to be Robin if that’s not what you need. It would be a relief to have one person in this house I could keep off the street.”

Jason just stared at him. “Then I don’t understand.”

Bruce looked at Tim and said, “Could I have a moment with Jason?”

Tim, who had mostly finished his omelet, grabbed a piece of toast and nodded. He looked at Jason. “I hope you don’t leave. Thanks, again.” Then he left, leaving Jason and Bruce alone.

Jason watched Bruce carefully. Though his worst assumptions last night had been proven incorrect, he had been right to notice Bruce’s strength. This was the man who terrorized Gotham every night. This was the man that criminals whispered about, the only man that intimidated the worst bullies. Jason could keep on his feet in a simple alley fight, but he was no match for Batman.

But Dick trusted him. Alfred trusted him. Tim trusted him. Maybe Jason could give him the benefit of the doubt for one conversation.

Bruce shuffled like he was about to stand up, but he stayed seated. Jason was relieved. Seated, Bruce was large. Standing, he was a behemoth. “What I told you in the beginning was true. I adopted Tim and Dick because I had the resources to help them. To the government, those resources were my money and my name. Those were things the boys needed. They needed a stable home, and they needed a family. But they both also needed something more. Something to feed the same drive that I had had since I was young. After my parents were killed, I decided that I needed to fix Gotham with my own hands. I trained, and I fought, and I ended up in the mask—as you’ve guessed. Fighting was the only way I could make sense of a nonsensical world. I saw suffering, and I needed to stop it. Dick and Tim both came to me because they have the same instinct. At first, I didn’t want Dick to join me. He was just a kid, and I knew how dangerous the streets could be. But he was insistent, and I decided I would rather have him with me, with my training and protection, than on his own, getting hurt. There’s a drive in all three of us. If we didn’t do what we do, if we didn’t have the capes, we would find other outlets for it. I thought you might have that drive too.”

Jason leaned back in his chair. “At one point, I did. I thought I needed to fight my way to a better life. But eventually I decided that violence only led to more violence.” He shook his head. “You know as well as I do that if I had wanted to, I could have joined any gang in Gotham. I could have stolen, I could have hurt people, I could have _killed_ people, for more money than I make doing what I do. I ended up on a street corner because I needed a job where I didn’t have blood on my hands.”

Bruce looked at Jason’s still-healing black eye. “You had your blood on your hands,” he reminded him.

Jason shrugged. “That I could handle,” he said simply. “That I was used to.” Bruce frowned, but Jason didn’t let him interrupt. “There are other ways, Bruce. You could help people with your money. You could do what you did for me, and give people a place to stay. Not everything has to be about fighting.”

Bruce nodded. “I know that. And as I got to know you these last two weeks, I got to understand that about you, as well. I wasn’t going to ask you to be Robin. I could tell you didn’t want to go back out there.”

“Then why did you let me stay? I gave you every opportunity to kick me out again.”

Bruce leaned forward, hands on the table, his gaze intent. “Because I think you’re right. I think there are other ways. I never, ever wanted anyone to put themselves at risk if there were any other options. If Tim decided today that he didn’t want to be Robin anymore, I would happily hang up his mask. He’s Robin for himself, not for me. I don’t need you to be anything but what you want to be. You’re here because there are ways I can help people without donning a mask. I knew that we could give you a safe place to heal, and that’s all I wanted.”

Jason eyed him, but Bruce was hard to read. He realized that some of their earlier conversations must have been part of Bruce’s ‘normal guy’ mask, and that this was the real Bruce. This was the Bruce who nominally ran a company by day, but beat up criminals in alleys by night. He was serious, impassive, and solemn. This was not the type of man who lied.

Jason ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t get it,” he admitted. “You don’t want me to fight crime with you. So what do you want? Why would you let me figure out who you are, especially when you know I’m going to be back out there soon? You trust me so much already?”

Bruce nodded. “Dick knew the moment he met you that you weren’t the type to betray someone else’s secrets,” he said. “But I don’t want you to go back out there. I want you to stay here.” He held up a hand. “Stay here as my ward, not as my sidekick.”

“I wouldn’t have been your ‘sidekick,’ anyway,” Jason said, words tripping off his tongue while he processed that statement. “You want me to stay? Like the others?”

Bruce tilted his head. “Dick is different from Tim, and they’re both different from you, but yes, in essence. I think you could belong here, and I wanted to give you that chance. If you were so quick to believe last night that I could hurt Tim, then maybe this is not the best place for you, but even then, I want to help you. I don’t want to see you back out on the streets. You have so much potential ahead of you, Jason. So much life. If not with me, I’ll find somewhere else for you to go. You’re too young, too smart, to be stuck doing what you had to do before you came here.”

Jason had entered breakfast that morning thinking that he had the ace up his sleeve, that he had all the information. He was starting to think that Bruce would always be three steps ahead of him.  “You barely know me,” he reminded Bruce.

Bruce nodded. “And you barely know us. I thought you might be starting to trust us, but last night showed me that we still have a ways to go. But that doesn’t mean we can’t get there, if you’re interested.”

Jason just shook his head, feeling like he’d had the legs swept from under him. “I told you that I don’t want to join your team,” he said. “I’m a loser’s bet.”

Bruce frowned, expression thunderous. “I don’t need another sidekick. But I think Tim could use another brother.”

“And you?” Jason prodded, because he couldn’t stop himself. He needed to get this all out now, and not wait for the other shoe to drop later.

Bruce nodded. “I lost my family when I was young. I’m only just learning how to build a new one. Dick taught me that family is about choice. You seem like the type of person I would choose as part of my family. Everyone has to learn one another, even those who have grown up together, but I would take the chance to get to know you. You’re a good kid, Jason. You said that there are things I could do without the mask?” He shook his head. “The mask will always be part of me, but I want to see the other ways I can help Gotham. But this isn’t about Gotham—it’s about you. Is this something you would want, Jason? If not, we’ll find something else, but the option is there.”

Jason didn’t know what to do with his hands. He didn’t even know what to do with his face. “After the last twelve hours, I assumed you’d be eager to see me leave. I accused you of abusing your kid, and then I figured out your secret identity. I was shoved on you by Dick in the first place, and you know what I had been doing on the streets. I barely know who I am, Bruce. Don’t you think this is a little crazy?”

Bruce’s expression finally cracked, a small smile tugging at one side of his lips. “I dress up as a bat every night, Jason. ‘A little crazy’ is practically the Wayne motto.”

“According to the coat of arms in the hallway, it’s actually ‘vincit qui patitur,’” Jason said.

Bruce laughed, a quiet but genuine sound. “That too,” he admitted, “but I think the other fits the new version of the family better.”

Jason sighed. “Can I have some time to think about it?”

Bruce nodded immediately. “Of course. There’s no pressure. You’re still under Alfred’s care until your ribs heal. You can stay as long as you want. If you decide to stick it out with us long-term, we can figure out a way for you to get your GED and think about your future. Bedrest drives you crazy, so I don’t think the indolent billionaire lifestyle will suit you. Since you don’t want the same outlets your brothers have, we’ll find something else for you. Wayne Enterprises is a large company, and Gotham could use more smart, young faces on their charity boards.”

Jason held up his hands. “That’s a lot of process, Bruce.” Suddenly, he understood the fluttering expressions of women who had just won Miss Universe pageants. He had thought he was closing a door this morning, only to find thousands open in front of him. “You’re sure about this?” he confirmed one more time.

“I am. Think over your decision over the next few weeks, but the option is going to be there as long as you need it.”

Jason nodded and stood up, leaving the remains of his breakfast behind. He was not one to leave food on his plate, but he had things to think about. He hesitated after taking one step away. He glanced back at Bruce. “Can I see your secret hideout, or whatever you have, at some point?”

Bruce smiled again. The expression wasn’t as out of place as Jason would have expected. “Even if you don’t join us in the streets, I think we can arrange a tour.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://starknjarvis27.tumblr.com/)!


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